


Time to Try

by SketchLockwood



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 20,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is an invention of my own. Please give it a read, the first few chapters suck, but I am taking it through editing. If you'd leave some feedback if you feel s inclined I would be most appreciative. </p><p>Lyndon Kaller is successful in his world of business, daddy set him up with all he needed from the word go; including a step mother he hates.<br/>In London accompanied by this woman whilst testing his luck of romance with a young lady he meets in Mayfair, he must decide whether the price is worth the prize and if he is prepared to sacrifice all of what he has worked for, including the reputation he has earned simply for the sake of a job.<br/>He is at serious risk of learning how bad it gets when the tables turn, and how close he is to death.</p><p>As the hunter becomes the hunted....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pennsylvania, United States.

The room was large, dark walled, large mahogany doors. The windows were large had you been

able to seen them, they were covered in thick maroon curtains with gold ropes to hold them back.

They were never held back, the only light in this room was artificial. The furniture was large and

made of either a dark oak or leather, the exception to this rule was the large rug which sat in

central position on the hard wood floor.

The room was, as you would imagine from this description, dark. The lights were dimmed to low

and a small fire burned in a large marble fire place over which a huge family portrait in a solid gold

frame hung, the picture included a small baby wrapped in blankets. Starring, Lyndon Kaller, the

world’s most normal baby! Anyone sat in this room would feel one of two things, a sense of extreme

power, or they would be nervous, they would understand the sole purpose of this room...

Intimidation.

Twenty Five year old Lyndon Kaller entered this room, forcing the heavy doors wide open without

hesitation. He never felt nervous when entering this room – even when he had one of the pretty

and underdressed house maids following him begging him not go in, his father did not wish to see

him. He rarely paid attention. He remembered back to a time when he had been small, he was

around six, maybe seven years old when he first remembered this room. It had scared the crap out

of him. He had come in here soon after his mother had died of an illness which had been ailing her

for months. She had been in charge of his upbringing, but she had gotten ill, and quickly her

physical health had deteriorated. Upon her death he had been called by his father to join the man in

this room. There had been no crying, just eerie silence. Not anymore, he had grown so used to it

now.

He closed the door, today there was no maid following him. “Father you called. “

“Indeed I did. Are you free?”

“You’d know if I wasn’t, you’d not be able to contact me.” The man said nothing to that comment,

instead nodded and indicated that his son should sit in one of the oversized leather chairs in front of

the huge oak landmass his father called a desk. Lyndon did as he was told, always. The thing which

intimidated people one step more than this room was the man behind the desk. He was in his late

50’s and greying, never a single hair out of place and not yet a sign of balding, his large belly sat

comfortably behind the desk and his face looked at you, dark eyes behind silver rims – a new

addition Lyndon still had to get used to. The man’s face was large, round and plump, his cheeks red

making him look permanently irritated. His hands sat one on top of the other on his desk, hands the

size of trucks. Hands capable of great damage. Worse yet, when this man chose to stand, as he did

the moment Lyndon sat in the chair, he towered a mighty 6 feet and 8 inches tall. Yes, that was

even when the man had started shrinking down to a half normal size.

Lyndon himself was only a mere five feet and six inches, when he stood on his tip toes

that was. His hair the colour his father had once be, a light brown, his eyes a green tinted blue –

from his mother, again from his mother were his stunning good looks. Unlike his father, Lyndon had

a baby face, yet one which was surprisingly handsome and one which he was rarely asked to

provide identification for, yet enough for people to believe his innocence. In comparison with his

father, he seemed as small as he did on that portrait, but far less helpless.

“So did you call me here for a reason? Or did you desire a small session where I sit here smiling

lovingly at my dearest daddy.”

The big man scoffed. “Fine, I shan’t let you settle in, let’s get on with this.”

Lyndon leaned back in the chair and sighed “Finally.”

“A woman came to see me today.”

“Nice, but you know you’re old enough to not have to tell your son about your nightly ordeals?”

“That is not what I meant and you know that.”

“Then who is she?”

“She wants to use your expertise.”

“And you did not give her my contact details?”

“It requires travel.”

Lyndon shifted in the chair. “To where?”

“London.”

This time a big sigh, anyone who knew Lyndon knew he hated London with a passion. England was

not so bad, he did not like England, but he could cope with it. He hated London.

“Wonderful.”

His father chuckled, not a happy chuckle. One of those that say words to you, and this one said ‘It’s

bad news.’

Lyndon waited, looking at his palm examining the nothing that was wrong with it. “I’m sending

Stephanie with you.”

At that moment, the world stopped spinning, no one moved, no one spoke, the fire dimmed to

nothing but ambers, a sudden cold draft raced through the room and the curtains blew. Lyndon

looked at his father with cold eyes. “What? Why?”

“I’m sending Stephanie with you because she will be able to help you, besides she needs a holiday

and I need her out from under my feet.”

“So you throw her under a train?”

“Don’t you dare.”

The smile said it all, which was the last of the conversation before the large man held open the

heavy mahogany door and Lyndon left the room closing the door behind him. He was back in the

long, plain hall way which he walked to get to his room. Yes. Lyndon Kaller, lives with his daddy,

because that’s hard core.

He climbed the wide carpeted steps to the upstairs of this massive house and took a left turn along

the landing, a right down another hall and to the end; he opened his door and was greeted by the

smell of everything he loved. This room was large, approximately the size of most people’s three

bedroom house, this was the case for most rooms in this place. The walls were painted saffron

yellow with hand painted pictures of various animals. The curtains were cream with yellow spots and

the carpet was a soft blue colour, and fluffy. Little had changed in this room since the day Lyndon

was born, other than the bed size and the clothing. He still had all his old children’s toys and though

a computer and Television had been added – along with some other things - this was his memory

of his mother.

He had turned down many offers for the room to be painted. It wouldn’t have been home. He

silently packed some clothes and accessories into his case and zipped it putting his laptop into its

bag he was ready to go within the hour of being told he was going. Stephanie was downstairs

waiting. “Lyndon sweetie, are you ready to go?”

He didn’t answer her only opened the front door and left putting his stuff into the car which sat on

the drive way. Most people took their cars, or they hired cabs to get to the airport. Lyndon’s father

was not most people, nor was he normal. As a result he had insisted that their private chauffeur was

to drive them to the airport. They travelled in almost silence. This being Stephanie tried to make

pointless conversation, Lyndon and the chauffeur both ignored her. As was the case for the airport,

and the plane ride he slept.


	2. Chapter 2

London, England.

They had been off the plane for over an hour, and already he felt his irritation heating to anger.

They hadn’t got their bags and were far from being able to leave the airport. Stephanie had flirted

with one of the British Customs guards, called him ‘a cutey’ and almost got her passport denied,

that had taken half an hour to sort out. All the while he had not heard on damn British accent. Most

Americans – all he knew – boasted about how nice the British accent was, how posh it sounded,

how they all sounded rich, classy and intelligent. That might have been the case, if there were any

English people. More often than not, Lyndon Kaller thought it was a conspiracy, that really there

were no English people. That they put them on T.V. or you occasionally met someone with a better

class of accent than the one you yourself possess, you question why and so the government tell you

they’re from England. England was like mars. There really was no natural life on it, nope it was

imported. Stephanie finally finished messing about and they collected their bags slowly moving

through the crowds of people and out of the airport, taking a cab from the airport to central London.

“So where are we staying?”

Stephanie spoke in a giggly voice, and it didn’t matter what she was saying, or what mood she was

in. She argued in a giggly voice and would tell someone that their husband or wife had died in a

giggly voice and a smile on her face. She always smiled. It was like she had been through plastic

surgery in order to keep her lips in that position. Other than that, it would have been rather hard to

have an objection with her. She was a woman of average height, five feet and four inches, she had

long blond hair which reached her back and bright blue eyes under make-up coated eye lids. She

was slim and wore elegant clothes.

“Stay wherever you please.”

“Your father has booked a double room,” giggle giggle. “He’ll be annoyed if I leave you all on your

little lonesome.”

“I’m sure he is aware I can look after myself. Considering my career choice.”

“Oh about that, I want to discuss it with you, have you thought of changing jobs… maybe to

something more appropriate for you.”

He spun on the spot stopping in the middle of the street, people stared, people sighed but they

walked right on. He glared at her, eyes cold as eyes an annoyed expression on his face. “Listen

Stephanie, you do not, I repeat. Do not tell me what to do, you do not suggest careers advice and

you do not play any part in my life. You are not my mother and I am not here on holiday, I only did

not leave you in America because my father told me that you had to come and that you could help,

but I am begging you to mess it up for me because I swear you won’t be going back there.”

“But my visa runs out in three weeks.” Giggle giggle.

He rolled his eyes walking on as fast he could, desperately trying to leave the annoying woman

behind. Yet despite wearing 5 inch heels, she was keeping up with him with little effort. He took a

back road off Park Lane and down to the entrance of the hotel checking in for them. They handed

him a key and sure enough, double room. He would let her have the bed, not because he was being

a gentleman, no. Instead because he would then perhaps get ten minutes of pure heaven, where he

didn’t have to listen to her stupidly annoying voice.

She fell asleep almost instantly when she lay down, not to say that meant that she laid down the

moment they got in. It took a painful amount of time before they progressed to that, she had

unpacked, showered and changed – and the entire time Lyndon had not been able to escape that

voice which made neonates want to kill people. Thank God she wasn’t a mother, who would want to

see the results of that? The child would be the definition of pure evil.

Lyndon spent his time now listening to her snores, snores which shook the world yet still better than

her voice. He opened up his laptop logging onto the WiFi, opening up a word document he made all

the notes he could from the email his father had sent him. Encrypted, no one other than they would

be able to read this email, no one would be able to see what had been sent.

On the document currently was a woman’s name, her age, a picture of her – or three, her address

and her occupation. From this Lyndon was able to use his skills to be able to find her telephone

numbers, the last person she had called, his name was Pete. The last person who had visited her

house, Pete and who she was in a relationship with – Yep, you got it, Pete.

Yet this was the mediocre stuff, Lyndon could craft the internet into his own personal spy device,

and soon enough he had been able to find what she had for breakfast this morning, and most

mornings for that matter and where the food had been bought. By this he could conclude, she lived

quite the life… No wonder really that someone had hired him to, uh, work with her.

Lyndon Kaller had an occupation which most people who did not fully understand it frowned upon,

but those who understood thought was an art form. Not everyone could kill people, take another

person’s money and move on with their life like nothing had happened without the police so much

as knowing their name or what they looked like, and that is why it is considered an art to those who

understand it. Those who are good at it can craft wonderful things, they can spend more time, get

to know the people and make their jobs fun.

Everything was ready to go, tomorrow first thing he would go and get breakfast at Harrods and

meet his new best friend, the lovely young lady Rebecca ‘Bexii’ Sommers.


	3. Chapter 3

Harrods, for those of who have not been, is like any other department store, a resemblance of hell.

Only it can be called ‘Hell with high price tags’. No matter where you go it seems impossible to

escape the huge crowds of people that make it hard to walk. One would find it hard to breathe if he

took more than a twenty eight inch waist. People stand around gormlessly looking at things which

for the most point they cannot begin to afford, they look for cheap quality souvenirs to take home

for friends and family just so they can say they have been. Then there are the people who shop

here regularly, looking at the expensive things with consideration, but almost never buying. This

was part of the reason Lyndon Kaller hated London.

He struggled through the crowds of people into the food court, the large rooms were deserving of

credit. He could not deny that, they were one of the architectural beauties of London – in his

opinion up there with Big Ben, St. Pauls and Buckingham Palace, all of which he had seen many

times. This room was truly grand, a room which it would have been easy to get used to. The white

ceiling was covered – decoratively so – with ornate sculptures of fruits, vegetables and other

groceries, the gold linings looked classy and the floors were clean, though crowded.

Women stood around making decisions of what to buy, bags were carried, people talked all the

While he stood looking around the room, his eyes taking in everyone, his brain endlessly processing

faces. He spotted her, by the grocery counter paying for undoubtedly overpriced food. She was

leaving the counter when he took his opportunity; he made it look like an accident as he walked into

her almost knocking her over before he caught her arm stopping her from hitting the floor. She

smiled and thanked him apologising for walking into him without paying him the slightest attention,

she walked on.

Londoners, too busy with their day to pay attention to the things that matter. He waited a moment

or two, just long enough to not gain suspicion and followed her the way she had left. She was close

enough to be seen, but not too close. He watched her carefully and felt almost guilty that he was

here. She was a truly very pretty woman. Short, around the five foot one, maybe two. She wore

business shoes, with heels. A skirt, just above knee length, skin coloured tights and a red blouse

with a small leather jacket. Her hair was dark brown – perhaps black, in this light it was hard to tell

and reached to her back. She walked with a sort of strut; she was in most ways perfect.

She smiled and spoke briefly to one of the security guards before she left the building, he took his

chance to leave before her, stepping outside pretending to be admiring the view of Knightsbridge

London. He didn’t stand out at all. He could have looked like a tourist, had he stood there looking

mindless and held a camera taking pictures of everything and everyone. She walked past him; again

he took a few moments before walking on.

He followed her for miles, she walked quickly and confidently a smile plastered on her face. People

moved for her without question, each one of them walking into him. She had that thing about her,

she walked with power, she walked with elegance. She was most men’s dream woman – most

women’s dream woman also. Lyndon Kaller could see it easily, men wanted to date her, women

wanted to be her, gay men were inspired by her. No one was an exception to the rule. Except

Pete…

Damn Pete…

A half an hour of walking and she stopped at a building and keyed in a number opening the door.

She entered the building closing the door behind her. So this was where she lived. A classy area, but

not too so, the people seemed approachable, it seemed safe for a young woman. Not the normal

hangings for a successful business woman, not the normal area for a woman of any wealth to be

living, but a middle class haven, yes.

He left, taking a cab back to the hotel where he was staying he entered through the back entrance,

which strangely backed onto Park Lane itself, and not a back road. He took the elevator to the sixth

floor and entered his room. To his dismay he found that Stephanie was still there, and she was

awake, breathing and even worse: talking.

“Lyndon, you have been out for hours, I’ve been worried about you. I woke up and you weren’t

here.”

“I was escaping having to spend time with you.”

“Next time tell me!”

“No.”

She looked shocked but said nothing, she sat on the bed reading the newspaper. “Did you have

breakfast this morning?”

“No.”

“You should have breakfast every morning.”

“Stephanie, shut up and tell me, what are you doing today?”

“I have no plans.”

“Yes you do.” She looked confused and her eyes followed Lyndon as he walked across the room

opening the closet, he looked through his jacket pulling out a small black leather wallet. He handed

it to her. “You’re going out.” The woman almost bounced. She climbed off the bed grabbing her

coat and smiled, she put her coat on kissing Lyndon’s cheek hugging him tight.

“You’re the best son ever.”

“I’m not your son.” She paid not attention to what he said she smiled and skipped off, pausing at

the door.

“You have my phone number? I’ll be back by six at the latest, let me know if you go out wont you

honey.”

“No Stephanie.”

She left and closed the door. Something you should know about Stephanie. Lyndon was twenty five,

twenty six the next May. His father was boarding sixty. Stephanie was twenty seven year old

stunner who had married his father for one thing, money. His father was no better, he’d married a

young woman for the purpose of the bedroom pleasure she could supply him with.

He checked his watch, 1.p.m. he waited a half hour and grabbed his coat from the closet leaving the

hotel. He caught a cab to Rebecca’s flat, sat on a wall across the road and waited. All day. She came

out at 4 p.m. alone and walked along the road. He followed, walking across the road they walked

for an hour onto Brook Street and into Claridges, one of London’s most luxurious, internationally

renowned hotels.


	4. Chapter 4

She walked confidently into the restaurant, Lyndon followed. As always he blended into his

surroundings and no one noticed him. Rebecca was greeted with the usual ‘Hello Madam and

welcome to Claridges.” The overly polite waiter showed her to a table and received a thank you.

Lyndon watched carefully before following a young waiter about his own height and weight, he

caught the young mans attention. “Excuse me?”

The young man turned and smiled “Yes sir, can I be of help to you?”

“You certainly can, I’m looking for somewhere a gentleman can smoke, if he didn’t want to do it just

outside the building.”

“Surely sir, I’ll just find someone to help-“

“Can’t you spare a moment to show me? I’m sure it will only take a second of your time.”

The young man looked around and then nodded “Surely sir, please follow me.”

Lyndon smiled and thanked him following the young man’s lead, he was guided around the side of

the hotel. Lyndon moved fast checking for anyone who could count as a witness, no one. He then

put a hand around the young mans mouth and dragged him down an alley, quickly he knocked the

boy out taking his blazer. He had no reasons to cover his face, even if boy remembered what he

looked like when he awoke, there would be no way he would tell. No, he would be far too

embarrassed. Lyndon put on the young man’s blazer sighing “Sorry kid, but these things happen.”

He walked back to the building wearing the blazer which fitted loosely, he walked back to the hotel

receiving a lecture about the quality of his uniform, and he tidied it up quickly and walked, as

instructed to Rebecca’s table. “Hello Madam, is there anything which I can get for you?”

“Yes, I shall have the...” she looked up and smiled “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“I don’t think so Madam.”

“No, I do. You were in Harrods just this morning were you not?”

“Why yes, but-“

“You walked into me and followed me, and now you’re waiting on my table in a fancy hotel and

expect me to think this a coincidence?”

“I assure you Madam that it is.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He looked lost, pretending that the reason was embarrassment, but

instead it was worry, worry that she had seen him and been able to correctly identify that it was he

who had walked into her.

“It’s okay, I know the reason. You like me. I accept that, now sit down.”

“I can’t Madam, I have a job to do.”

“Nonsense, you can sit if I tell you to.” she caught the attention of one of the senior waiters; he

came over quickly, a smile on his face.

“Madam is there something wrong?”

“Yes, your waiter here is refusing to sit and have lunch with me, he seems to think that it will not be

allowed.”

“If it is your request Madam, then he can sit and dine with you. The waiter pulled out the chair for

him and once Lyndon was seated, he pushed the chair in and smiled. “What can I get you?”. The

placed their orders quickly and once the waiter had gone, they began to talk.

“Explain, why you were following me?”

“I like you.”

“Dear, you do not know me, how do you know you like me? You mean you were attracted to me?

Well I am not surprised. What is my stalkers name?”

He answered slowly, nervously and pretended to stutter.

“Lyndon Kaller.”

“A peculiar yet, very nice name. I’m Miss Rebecca Sommers.”

“Very nice.” He looked around awkwardly and played the innocent act. “I was wondering, why did

you wanted me to sit and eat with you?”

“Is it not my right to know my stalker?”

“I assure you, I am not stalking you.”

“I’m sure, but-“ She paused and smiled as the waiter brought their food and placed it in front of

them in a perfect fashion before telling them to enjoy their food and leaving. She tasted the food,

clearly enjoying it. “As I was saying, none of the staff here seem to know you. I eat here often and

it has never been the case that a waiter has been allowed to eat with a customer when working.”

He shrugged as if to say he could not help her with that matter. She did not say anything else. She

simply smiled an angel smile and continued eating her food. She was polite enough to wait for him

to finish before requesting the bill from the waiter. She looked at it and smiled placing it face down

on the table. From her handbag she took a piece of note paper writing her mobile phone number

onto it. “Well Mr Kaller, it was nice speaking with you. If you’re going to be in London for any length

of time, it would be nice if you called me.” She handed him the piece of note paper and stood,

sliding the bill in his direction. “It’s tradition that he buys on the first date, so I’ll trust you to get

this. I’m sure you get a quite reasonable staff discount.” Again she smiled, this time she kissed his

cheek before walking to the exit thanking the restaurant staff.

He watched as she left, her outfit perfect, her strut never faltering and that darling smile never

leaving her face. He took off the blazer folding it quickly before taking his credit card from his

trouser pocket, the paid the bill and when no one was paying any attention, he left stopping by the

alley to return the now creased white blazer to the young man who was just beginning to wake. He

thanked the boy for his cooperation then walked off. This place had truly fantastic service for their

customers.


	5. Chapter 5

He waited two whole days before calling her. It was midday and she answered quickly, he asked to

meet her, she explained that she’d meet him after work and that she would call and arrange a

meeting place then – she wasn’t sure at what time she would finish.

That was fine, it would give him a chance to be away from Stephanie this afternoon. Currently she

was out doing what she likes to do best; shopping. Heaven only knew what for. London – New York

and Paris were not safe places to let a woman loose with a credit card. The results tended to be

disastrous.

He could only dread what she would bring back.

He shuddered at the thought and opened his laptop, checked his email as a distraction from the

thought and not because he needed to check it. One email from his father, containing nothing

important, just a check-up and some junk mail. All in all a massive waste of time.

To pass more time, he showered and changed slipping two knives into his socks, and stuffing the

gun which he had managed to slip past customs early that week into his pocket. He then waited,

sitting on the bed reading a book. It felt like it had taken just minutes to read 150 pages and

minutes for the phone to ring. He checked his watch: 7.30 P.M. His mind wandered and he was

surprised to find himself thinking of Stephanie and how she wasn’t back yet. He checked the caller

ID, it wasn’t Stephanie, and so he answered.

“Rebecca?”

“Bexii, please. Where are you staying?”

“The Park Lane Hotel.”

“Nice.”

“Standard.”

She laughed. “I like your attitude.”

“I try.” He waited for her to tell him where they would meet. It seemed like a forever’s long pause

before she spoke again.

“I’m in a cab, heading toward the Park Lane come outside, we’ll go for a walk in the park.”

“Walk with take out coffee?”

She laughed, a small and feminine laugh, one which he was thankful to hear “That makes you

sound so very tourist… It’s obvious you’re an American.”

He said nothing, he was getting on his jacket and almost missed what she said after that. “My cab

will be there in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be down.” It was he who hung up without saying goodbye. He put the phone back into his

pocket and leaving a note for Stephanie to say he was out and was unsure of what time he would

be back, he left the room putting a do not disturb sign on the door. The last thing he wanted was

for someone to come into the room and read his things, the last thing he wanted was to give the

game away by spending his time worrying about it.

He left the hotel not stopping at the bar and enquiring about how much take out coffee was, or

indeed if they did take out coffee. He was sure they would if a customer asked, but how much it

would be that he dreaded. Here, at the Park Lane hotel, one or two steps down from Claridges, one

of London’s more superior hotels, like The Ritz, was still highly expensive. He left through the back

entrance which lead straight out onto Park Lane and waited for a moment or two before a classic

London Taxi pulled up and the young lady stepped out, she paid the driver, looked around and

smiled at him when she spotted him. He walked over. “Mr Kaller.”

“Rebecca.”

“I said Bexii”

Yes, she had.

They walked slowly saying nothing for a few moments, it did not seem appropriate to speak. For an

English night the weather was warm, the coat took him to a comfortable temperature, but it was not

needed. Rebecca lead the way, walking slowly but confidently, she stopped suddenly. “Have you

thought of where you would like to go? For the most point London will still be open, so it’s up to

you, we could nip over to Oxford Street, or Reagent Street. You’ll know Hamley’s of course?”

“I know of it, huge toy store, lots of floors, too many children, even more parents, the definition of

pure hell.”

She laughed. “You’re not a children man?”

He shook his head. “They are not my idea of heaven.”

“Are they anyone’s?”

He smiled. “I’m a toy person; I’d go to treat the place as a large nursery.”

“We could take the Underground over, if you have an oyster card.”

“No Oyster Card and no money. Somewhere we can walk.”

“Green Park… Perhaps you could see Buckingham Palace.”

“I’ve seen it, the tiny place is over rated.”

They laughed as they walked, again momentarily slipping into a comfortable silence. “I take it you

are rich then Mr Kaller?”

“What would make you assume that?”

“You come to London, stay in a five star hotel, you shop in Harrods, call Buckingham Palace small

and pay the bill at one of the city’s most expensive restaurants without having brought it up.”

“I was waiting till we were out of sight to mention that, mugging I have heard is not approved of

here in London.”

“Not publically I’d guess.” She smiled, stepped to the curb and stopped. The line of solid traffic did

not stop for a minute. Lyndon was about to suggest finding somewhere safe they could cross, then

she grabbed his hand and set off at a sprint across the road, they reached the other side in one

piece. He questioned how.

She gently took his hand making him gulp, a small smile sat on her face, she was content and so he

didn’t object. They walked down the street, turning into the park. “This reminds me of Mary

Poppins.” He said.

She laughed at that one, wondering but not asking why it reminded him of Mary Poppins, the

answer was obvious, it was London. She knew the other reason why, Americans are ignorant

enough to put one city – often the only city which they have heard of in England (sometimes

outside of America) and they can limit one huge, wonderful and historic city to one thing which they

have heard of. She almost sighed. They walked a little longer before he suddenly stopped, he

looked around. “You like me don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why else? You gave me your telephone number and arranged a meeting with me, how can I

assume that you don’t?”

“Because you’re correct, are you single Lyndon?”

“yes, but are you?”

She looked away for a moment and gulped "That's the terrible thing, I'm engaged and if he were to

see me with you, he'd be upset, he'd hate you. He sees me talking with women and he gets mad

but you? You're new around here, and you're male. No, he'd want you dead." She glanced around,

looked panicked and looked back quickly.

Lyndon too scanned the area. Nothing. "Bexii, theres no one here."

"You can't be sure, you dont know here, you dont know him."

He sighed and nodded. "So what does this mean?"

She looked at the floor and looked awfully guilty, awfully sad. "We cant see each other, he cannot

see me with you, you shouldn't, no must not call me either."

"He cant-"

"You can't judge him, you cannot say what he can and cannot do, he can do anything and you can't

stop him."

"He scares you does he?"

"Lord knows I wouldn't have told you not to call me if he didn't" She checked the area again and

once sure they were safe, kissed his cheek She started walking away, he watched her, she stopped

and looked back, she smiled. "Good bye Lyndon, remember, please dont call. Forget I ever existed.

you dont know what he is capable of."

She turned and continued he watched, a look of confusion on his face. The thought running through

his mind, he might not know exactly what that man was capable of, he was however sure that he

could handle him. As for her, she had simply made this far easier for him to do his job. She was

clearly lying.

She turned back with one last smile she stepped out of his view, ensuring that she kept their, she

watched Lyndon Kaller turn and walk away, a sad look on his face. She then looked down the park,

at the borrom were huge gates, leading onto the mall, which in turn lead to Buckingham Palaxe,

which had it still be day light would have been visible from this view point.

She walked down the rest of the path to where the man stood, he glanced at her, paid her little

attention but he was clearly unimpressed, something had annoyed him. She put her hands around

his waist and kissed his cheek. "Oh Pete, so glad to see you here, isn't it a surprise."

"You seemed too close with him."

"And that is no concern you know it."

"Don't make me hurt you Rebecca,"

She tried hard to stffle a smile. "Don't make me laugh... Pete." with that she walked away quickly.

A small skip in her walk, she climbed the gate quickly and looked through it, a big smile on her

face, she blew him a kiss through the bars "I'll see you at home handsome."

And off she skipped....


	6. Chapter 6

Back in his room at the Park Lane, Lyndon sat on the bed, Stephanie was not yet back and he

worried someone more, then he thought that London must have a great night life, like New York

and Los Angeles, she was probably being held up shopping or drinking or whatever women of just a

few years older than him did with their time when they were on vacation. He was sure it would bore

him, and besides he had only been out of the hotel for half an hour accoridng to his watch, their

was no need to panic and ruin his fun by callng her and insisting she come back just yet. He had

time.

He opened up his laptop and checked his emails, he messaged back hs father who had been

bombardng him with emails, checking on Stephanie - probebly for the sake of his credit card bill -

and was question how the job was going. He did of course say that everything was fine.

He mentioned nothing of the fact that Stephanie had gone out and she had not yet returned,

it was not yet an issue.

He checked up information on Pete. He put together all the information he could find on the man,

nothing too surprising came up. It confirmed that he and Ms Sommers lives att the same address,

that he was a rather successful businessmen - he was not from Park Row Manhattan but still, not

bad. He worked in Canary Wharf, so successful enough. Along with this came richness, enough to

keep Ms Sommers in the more than comfortable life to which she had become acustomed. Nothing

was mentioned as to whether the man had a criminal record - which made him assume that the

man did not. It was not mentioned that he had been involved in any violent crime, nor any unhappy

relationships which which suggested violence, nor even unpleasantness.

The man seemed completely straigt and legitimate.

Though anyone in Lyndon's job - and many people outside it knew that all it took was a brain and

you could have killed millions, you would not get caught if you knew the ins and outs, the does and

donts and how to lift the evidence from a crime scene... or how to shut the woman up after you ht

her.

He looked into it all somemore and came up with nothing useful. He looked at the clock. ten p.m.

he was about to pick up his phone and dial Stephanies number when the door opened, the young

blond stepped into the room, laughing. She was not sober, and she was accompanied by a man.

Lyndon stood quickly, coughed loud enough to make her look. She blushed, clear embarasment,

the man with her looked awkward.

"Stephanie." He looked over the man and then away again. "I will not ask who this man is or what

your intentions are. That is my father's question not mine. You said you would be back far earlier

than this. I was worried."

"Oh Lyndon... You nweedn't have been I was out drinking with this man."

"As I can see, but you do not know him, he could be anyone."

"I assure you I'm perfectly safe, I wasn't aware she had a partner with her." The man said, he

looked embarassed again and looked at the floor.

"Sir, I don't care, and I am not her partner. She's my father lover. I don't give a crap."

She smiled sweetly "Lyndon honey you wont tell your father if we did anything would you?"

"Of course." A small smile. He stepped toward the bathroom door opening it. "I'll be in the

bathroom, it's your choice what you do."

With that he stepped into the bathroom closing and locking the door. He stepped into the bath and

laid down. Really he'd expected as much of her, unfortunately it involved hurting a man he cared

for very much.


	7. Chapter 7

Pete sat at home in their flat, a large four bedroom apartment, modest for someone of their income

but nice. Rebecca was getting ready for bed, in the shower singing as she always did. He knew her

bedtime routine as though it were his own. She showered, whilst sing, always songs about love and

happiness then she dried off with a bathrobe, combed her hair, dressed in her pyjamas and climbed

into bed.

He listened as he looked at the computer, he typed in the name which Rebecca had given him,

Lyndon Kaller.

The information which came back was nothing incriminating. The young man had been born and

raised in Pennsylvania, he had been sent away to Eton for an education, he had achieved a

University degree, followed by a Masters. He was currently on break and had a plan to complete his

PhD at Oxford University. He seemed like a pretty normal guy. One question came to mind though.

Why when the man had studied in England, and was planning the highest part of his university

education in England, then what was his real purpose for him being in England. No one would really

buy that he wanted a vacation here.

Considering the rumours he had heard about someone being here to harm Rebecca, he would not

risk a thing. There was no way in hell that this man was here for the purpose of a holiday, and he

would sure as hell not let him pretend he was. Pete loaded a gun which he stored in his draw. He

stood and put the gun in his jacket just in time as the bedroom door opened. Rebecca smiled and

looked at him. "Come with me, I want you." He smiled and stepped in the room with her, nothing

was urgent anything which he had to do could be taken care of the next day. He closed the door

behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Lyndon was woken by his phone ringing at eight o clock in the morning. He was in the bathtub, fully

dressed and covered in a bathrobe which you would have to be an olympic weight lifter to hold. He

pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the caller ID it was his father. "Father. Why on earth

are you calling?"

"You've been discovered."

The words sent chills down his spine, he had never heard those words before. "You're sure?"

"Someone has a hit out on your name, unless there is someone else with your name and date of

birth then I am absolutely sure."

"How did you hear?"

"News travels fast, I help group of assasins, the news comes to me faster than most, Lyndon you're

my son and I worry about you in this ob at the best of times, I'm worried now more than ever. Call

it off and come home. Please. I don't know how much they want to offer you but it isn't worth your

life."

"I cant quit, I have never quit. If I succeed the hit is off."

"Very well, but if you die? What will I do? I lost your mother, you are in most aspects all I have left,

but if you refuse to leave, wont you send Stephanie home?"

"I'll do my best to get her to leave."

"Put her on the plane with force if you need."

"I will I promise." With that hung up the phone. He opened the bathroom door and looked out,

Stephanie was laying on the bed doing nothing, saying nothing. She was completely still. More

worrying she was alone. He walked over, his hand resting on the sheet it was red and sticky he

looked at his hand and gulped, blood and a lot of it. He didnt need to check her pulse to know the

answer. She was dead the man who had come in here had double crossed them, he knew what he

was doing, he was a trained killer.

A shudder rand down his spine, they had been played and he wondered how he would tell his

father. That was the first thought that came to mind. The second was his assurance that he would

fnd the man and kill him, he never forgot a face and the third thought surprised him. He thought

about how it should not have happened, not because he should have spotted the guy (though that

thought now played on his mind) but instead because he knew, he should have protected her. She

was his step mother, part of his sort of family. He should have stopped it happening.

He looked at her and rested two fingers against her neck, no pulse. He called an ambulance and

explained, he knew the police would be there... that was no worry to him. He had a way of getting

around these things. He'd be done here and back in America before they could arrest him. He

looked at her, packed quickly, kissed her cheek said goodbye, pretended to wipe a tear and left.

The issue had to be sorted. Now


	9. Chapter 9

London was alight, sirens, blue and red lights and people shouting. Lynodn turned back to see the commontion, he'd stopped on Picadilly finding the best and secret vantage point he could. Something seemed strange, this was a sight not abnormal to him yet the feeling that this time accompanied the feeling seemed aline, he felt guilt and worry. His mind jumped, out of control and thought of his father... How was he ever going to tell the man and how would he ever live this down? Now was not the time to work this out he thought, regretting he would have to call the man and tell him over the phone.  
Something distracted him from his thought process, something out of place in the vast London crowds. A man stood alone just down the street, he leaned against the wall he offered Lyndon a smile. It took Lyndon a moment and a few steps forward for his eyes to focus in on the man and his brain to register the face. This was the very man who had been in the hotel with Stephanie last night. Lyndon set off with speed after the man who had tried to run just seconds after seeing Lyndon. It didnt take long before Lyndon closed ground and grabbed the mans arm, a sharp pull away down a side alley.  
Most would have screamed or complained, something Lyndon was thankful was a rare thing in this business. Despite the obvious infancy of this mans career he had it down. You dont draw attention, you dont object and you certainly dont aware the law of anything going down between two in the same business, what happened behind closed door was both confidencial and without rules. The man clearly new this fact and so walked almost comfortably next to Lyndon, the more experience though younger of the two. Neither spoke all the way to Lyndon's destination, a small flat owned by his father for such purposes as these.  
He opened the door to the sparsly furnished flat and allowed his guest to enter first before he locked the door behind them both, the key hidden in his pocket he walked to the kitchen flicking on the kettle which sat on the worktop. "Coffee?"  
"Huh?"  
"You mean pardon, I said do you want coffee?"  
"No, thank you."  
Lyndon shrugged continuing to make himself tea, he rarely drank anything with caffeine in it, even rarer when he was working. "Do you have beer?"  
"No. I dont drink."  
"Oh."  
Lyndon offered the man a darling smile which suggested he should take the advice himself. Tea made, Lyndon sat in a comfortable arm chair and looked at the man drinking slowly. "I'll give you the opportunity, whilst my patience still exists to tell me who hired you and why you went for Stephanie."  
"She was the easy target."  
Lyndon nodded, shrugged, sure he could see why some would have gone for her, he often liked a challenge, Stephanie would have just been too easy for his liking. "Who."  
The man side stepped the question. Lyndon took a gulp of the tea, his eyes closed momentarily allowing the hot liquid to warm him and rehydrate him. He'd heard somewhere, maybe read it, that tea for some reason has rehydrating effects that water cant match, he couldnt remember the reason why but it seemed to work for him; he then settled for scraping his finger nails together and clicking his tongue. "You'll tell me who one way or another."  
"Ah yes." Lyndon offered the an a curious glance. "I was told you'd do this."  
"Hurt you?" The man settled for a nod. Lyndon took one final gulp and put set the mug on the floor then stood and approached the man, he ran a smllhand through his soft blond locks. "You could leave unharmed if you give me the name."  
"He's scarier than you."  
Lyndon smiled, cruel, cold. The man knew before Lyndon had even taken out the knife that Lyndon was going to enjoy every single agonizing second of this.

***

A half an hour later, hundreds of agonising calls which Lyndon had muffled with by a quick tongue removal, sealing the wounds with a lighter, the man would still only have a couple of hours without medical attention, which had been the last thing he had asked Lyndon for before his shaky bloos covered hand had written the name Pete and offered Lyndon a photo of the man, taken on his iphone. Of course the mans repeated request for an ambulance was one Lyndon ignored, offering the man a cold laugh instead of a 999 call. He'd left quickly after heading into London to finish this once and for all.


	10. Chapter 10

Six hours, fifty phone calls and a million button clicks later Dwaine 'Pete' Johnson sat on a comfortable chair in front of his laptop reading over a file he had been sent from a contact, a contact who had said that his opponents weakness was contained in this hundred page document he was skim reading; so far limited success had been gained from reading the boring and bdly worded document. Why could doctors not speak in simple and clear English?  
They were making the facts so much harder to uncover.  
So he had found Lyndonn was visually challanged, a condition in both eyes causing something called Amblyopia, so effected his vision. He'duncovered prescriptions for something called 'Nadalol', a betablocka of some kind, further research had brought him a name for the reason such medicines were needed. Long QT Syndrome, a rare heart condition, over all caused by defected genes. So the boy had bad genes that didnt help, especially when he found that the medications effects were limited and the conditions both were something and nothing, as in he currently was experiencing no side effects. Other than that the document had supplied him with nothing.  
He opened an email from a contact, just come through. it contained some lifestyle choices about his opponent and apicture displaying a young man, short sand blond hair, swept to the right. he stood in front of a plam tree, sun gasses covering the cold blue eyes he usually had on sidplay. The email displayed further infromation his education  
Eton.  
Hardvard.  
Ocford.  
Rich kids....  
It told Pete that the boyy was Bi Lingual, speaking fluent English, french and Chinese. It told him he was allergic to mushrooms, but not seriously, it would just limit how far he;d be able to travel due to sickness, sickness he'd robably grown accustomed to, certainly would not let it affect him he was sure of that. It told Perte that Lyndon liked K pop, among other forms of music, his particular favourite being Psy at the current moment, but that would probably change soon, from one extreme to the other, he liked metal and classical too. Great, so the boy changed his preferences quickly and to different extremes. It mentioned a second allergy, opiates, well yes, but unless he intended to send Lyndon to hospital with Herroine in his system, that one would be hard.  
As far as people could find, the boys ID was limited, there was no way to set up a police call. He had a Passport, probably faked for all anyone knew. He;d no driving license or other ID form, the driving license would have been denied they knew, besides he could tell from what he already knew of Lyndon ona personal level, that would be ofno advantage to him anyway, the boy was an excellent driver and completely care free.  
he returned to the medical document; the screen shut off quickly as he heard the bedroom door open, he looked to see the lovely Bexii leaving the bedroom she smiled to him, wrpped in a pink bathrobe she walked over and kissed his cheek, scratch stubble. He smiled as he detected her scent of rose shampoo and a chocolate mint shower gel. She truly was a diamond, proud he;d found her, a good looking and obedient girl.. How rare were they?  
The best part was she asked no questions and kept herself to herself. She didnt complain when he asked her to go back to the bedroom so that he could answer a phone call in peace, she simply did as she was told. How wonderful.  
He lifted his Nokia to his ear and accepted the call. "Yes?"  
"Boss, we have a problem, a big one."  
"What's that?"  
"The newbee's been destroyed."  
"What?"  
"He had a run in with The Kaller." His friends way of seying Lyndon had found him, the man thought he was being witty in using Lyndons appropriate last name as euphanism for the guy who'll one day kill you.  
Kaller, Killer... Get it?  
Whatever.  
Pete a large man, around six foot three, skinny by muscular and wearing formal wear, with no exceptions made pulled lightly at his long black hair and closed his eyes sighing as the htought of what to do, his mind made when the man spoke again. "Chris broke."  
"What?"  
"Lundon has your name."  
"Which will make no difference to him."  
"If only Chris hadn't given The Kaller his iphone."  
"And?"  
"Chris had insurance pictures, in case things went wrong."  
They'd gpne wrong okay, as wrong as they could have gone. Pete moved quckly, he left he laptop there and hung up the phone, packing quickly all the weapons he could find. His last worry of course being caught with fire arms in a country where such things were high class felonies, let alone foreign, smuggled unlicensed weapons. He'd be in prison for the rest of his life probably, at least long enough for Lyndon to forget he existed, at least get bored and leave him alone... right? Well he could hope that the police would catch him, then he could be safe. The alternative was self defense.  
COurse, as he was leaving his thoughts briefly turned to Bexii, alone in the bedroom, Lyndon surely would be on his way to the apartment? Would he take the same shot as Pete has sent Chris to do and take out the woman in his life? No, he recalled two things, Stephanie had meant little to Lyndon, by nature the boy cared about few people beyond himself and those who created him, secondly, he liked a challenge. Bexii was far too easy.  
Pete closed the door quietly and in minutes was disguised in the mercifully busy London crowds.


	11. Chapter 11

Bexii left the bedroom when she heard the front door close, she wandered around the flat checking Pete was really gone before opening the laptop, the screen lit up on documents. She recognised the name instantly.  
Lyndon james Kaller  
May 26th 1988.  
Pennsylvania United States.  
Confidential Records.  
She smiled and scanned through the document quickly observing the the notes Pete had kindly made on a word document, reading over preexisting physiological problems with the ma she had met, her stalker. A man who was somewhat surprisingly American and not British as she had thought he actually may have been, that accent. Damn.  
The physiological illnesses were interesting enough, she'd make a note to remind herself to do more research on that QT thing, what did it mean? She'd be sure to find out, it could very well come in useful. Her attention returned to the medical records, she scrolled down, her interest peaked at the sign of a psychiatric record. She looked over it; reading the notes made by one Dr J Hampson MD.  
'The patient sufferers from a lack of empathy and cold delusions, it is claimed he sufferers from attachment difficulties and teachers report a cold replay and recall of all events. The young man appears completely at rest, no change in emotion with no variations. Teachers have reported a various sign of mood swinga to a serious level, the patient appears to be in complete distress when ignored or considered less important, ury at the idea of others coming first. Yet he seems cold to the idea of any form of interaction, social or otherwise and the idea of relationships seems alien.  
The yong man has complained of experining confusion, he is depressed at boredom, to a point of suicidal tendencies and the only people he can openly speak to include his father, he speaks of a mother with a air of absence.  
> Mood Swings  
> Uncontrollable mood  
> Lack of Empathy and Sympathy - NO understanding  
> Poor social interactiion in changing situatuons  
> High Intelligence IQ 120  
> Dysfunctional emotional interaction  
> Boredom is a problem  
> Feelings of inadequecy followed by feelings of superirrity.  
> Changing mood, likes, interests.  
> Apparent change in personality  
> Sometimes experiences disordered speech  
> Confusion

Diagnosis:  
Borderline Personality Disordwr  
Psychopathy

Treatment:  
Regular therapy. Medication inappropriate at time. Preexisting comorbid conditins.

Authorised but not signed

June 12th 1000'

She smiled absorbing the information thouroughly storing it away for future use. She then read over the email sent from Petes friend Kane. Yes, Kane, thank you very much. She looked through the information, his educational record stunning her, Eton he had studied English (Lit and Lang( mathermatics, science, gerography, history, French. All the academics. He' achieved high before attending Harvard and obtaining an honours degree in Psychology, following that he attending Oxford completing his Masters only three years ago. He was apparently, a stunning martial artist, achieved and confirmed Black belt 2nd Dan in TaeKwondo, 3rd in Karate and pretty high up in Judo.  
Ameateur.  
More information stunned her, more so when she searched his fathers name, coming up with hits. She contacted him, emailing te man questioning about the businesses services, as she'd seen they were confienctial. A quick reply, three minutes, he explained that they worked on pest removal a euphenism she feared - and that expenses were high. The connesction of course she knew had been traced, he'd been sure it wasnt from a law enforncement official before he had answered, besides, what could thye have done She was satisfied with the email and asked about Lyndon, how much he charged.  
The answer was just as quikk, apparently Mr Kaller ws away at work at the moment and he could not say how lon it would be before the young man returned and was availible for work, butn he would contact her and confirm a price with more details and upon Lyndon's return to pennsylvania.  
Thats if he returns.  
Yes, she now knew why he was here.  
She was disturbed by a knock on the door. She rose, opening the door, Lyndon walked passed her, she walked quickly to the laptop closing it, she earned herself a skeptical look, his eyes burned a hole in the laptop, atleast she thought they should have done. She was sure that somone with amblyopia and his visual acuitiy he would not have been able to see the laptop screen, surely. He walked into the kitchen, then the bedroom, she knew what he was doing - searching.  
She followed his lead looking in the drawers, she knew just where Pete kept the weapons he pretended he didnt have, she knew all about her boyfriends secret life, a drug dealer. Thats how he had the money. He'd taught her so much, so many useful things, without knowing. The drawers were empty, she sighed and cursed the coward under her breath. he knew, Lyndon would have been coming after him, he knew when he left, he knew she was here alone. So he'd decided to leave her with no defense?  
She waited for Lyndon to leave her bedroom and enter the secondd room before se ran for her room From her wardrobe she retrieved a pair of silver heeled stilettos, took up a nail file and began her mission of scraping away the excess metal. The noise unbareable, she switche don the music hoping Lyndon would not hear.  
The process was surprisingly quick, she walkd out in her new, sharp pointe heels and walked over to Lyndon, tap tap tap on the hard wood floor. Tiny scratches followed her step. "What do you want sweetheart?"  
"Bexii, hey, I didnt know you were-"  
"I live here stupid." She smiled sweetly, her mind growing tired of the dumb girl act, the one her parents had enforced on her oh so many times. The one she was getting used to doing, in defence of such an act she had learned, this was the way for women, pretty women to get their own way. She smled sweetly, her hand resting comfortably, one on her thigh the other just under her beast. She wore a tight corset like blouse, her breasts easily exposed, pink ribon sitting on her skin, complimenting it, the black a perfect contrast to her skin, the perfect blend to her black and tight ass hugging skirt, her legs cased comfortably in white knee length socks.  
He looked her up and down, smiled slightly, her plan working perfectly. Then something came across his eyes, a complete block. It failed as quick as it worked. She sighed and looked at him, small but perfect, blond hair that worked with his slightly tanned skin, blue eys given by the gods, muscle that was obvious yet it wasnt. He wore the clothes of a normal middle class man, jeans and t shirts. How could she not find herself naturally attracted to him? Then there was his personality, the coldness, the insensitivity, why she liked it she couldnt explain. He'd make, she knew, a fantastic lover.


	12. Chapter 12

He'd taken her car, a mercedes, she hadn't even asked for his driving license, perhaps she'd known he would take it anyway? He didn't care. Lyndon sped through London, taking every corner to get away from the traffic jams. He was at speed heading to Heathrow, following his instinct. Sure, Pete had distance, he had a lead, probably a good thirty minutes. He was on a train too, Lyndon knew the attempt was futile, but it was to be made. As for his job, Bexii, well he could have easily killed her right there in that apartment, but no. Her outfit, hip hugging, he'de felt attraction, pushed it aside as quick.  
Damn she was sexy.  
Then he reminded himself, he had no time for exploring the area of attraction nor love, it makes a man, or anyone, weak. They find themselves crippled in love and crippled out of it, they could not live with or without the one they love. Besides, he didn't get the big idea. Love was something he knew would not benefit him, and the physical uh 'benefits' that accompany it were of no interest to him.  
He'd sport out doing his jjob and removing her just as soon as he'd followed his instincts and chased down Pete.  
Course, he knew Pete would not leave the country, it would take too long, besides it was far too predictable. He would have known also, due to his father Lyndon had connections in jst about every country, Pete would not stand a chance. No he'd plya this low key and stay in England, but travelling by train would take too long, far too long. Plane was the only way the manw ould travel,S o Lyndon had to catch him up, find where he was going and then he'd take his chance in fighting the man he'd spent years wanting to eliminate.  
Ever since that man had challeneged him, ruined his reputation.

Heathrow was possibly the worst place on earth, worse even than Harrods Lyndon recalled, people everywhere, security, innocents, police, paramedics, piolets and of course, your regular citizens. Plus the people like him, who blended in with everyone but really, they belonged to no group. He was happy with such a status.  
He'd joined the queue, noticing his target five heads in front. He listended carefully, noting for once he was thankful for the poor vision he had been granted at birth, for this had improved his hearing by about three fold the human average. He was pleased with such hearing, noting that Dwaine had spoken to the woman behind the desk politely, he'd asked for the next plane to Leeds, she'd replied it would be twenty minutes, he's accepted, looked around nervoudly, paid. At no point was his fellow American counterpart asked for a passport or proof of identification, all for a faked British accent. Oh British security, at times he did love it.  
His turn to speak to the same woman came minutes later, he took booked a place on the next plane to Leeds, using the more British side of his accent and his faked but convincing sociopathic charm, just one of the many benefits he'd achived in bis life, of course, the flirting to him was a game, no care for the woman or what she did, would do or even if tomorrow she would be breathing graced his thoughts. All he cared for currently was justice.  
Surprised by the thought he paused, ticket in his hand. Was he for once working on the side he was not used to working? Fighting for the right of the world, for justice as opposed to fighting for the sheer enjoyment, the sadistic pleasure... For his financial benefit.  
As he thought of his father, recalled how Stephanie had looked when Chris, or whatever that pathetic creatures name was, he realised; yes he was.  
He walked quickly to the gate, boarding the plane only when the nice woman, dressed in a smart sky blue outfit allowed him, so far he too had not been asked for a piece of identification. Observant as ever he noted where his target sat, hoping the man had not noticed him. Of course he was sure from the man's body language, his posture that he had not. He seemed relaxed, perhaps overly so. He seemed uneasy, he hugged a backpack which Lyndon was surprised he had got through, he would certainly have to fnd out how something so obviously bad could have made it through security. He suspected money. Lots of it. Lyndon sat back, doing his blending in thing, the one he hated so much.


	13. Chapter 13

Leeds, England.

The plane had landed a half hour before, Lyndon had moved quickly overtaking Pete as he raced through the security and out of the airport into the car park, he waited patiently. Sat upon a wall drinking a can of seven up, The only sugar filled drink he had been able to find that had limited caffiene but lots of flavour. As Pete appeared Lyndon down the last gulp and disposed of the can in the bin, Littering to him seemed pointless, it messed things up and it drew attention to you.  
Pete was about to walk passed when Lyndon's foot tripped him, the man hit the floor and Lyndon, with speed dragged him behind a wall and down a slope before punching the man without giving him chance to speak. "Lyndon?"  
"You bastard." Several more punches were allowed before the large man rolled away from him  
"Lyndon, listen-"  
"You killed my step mother!"  
"No, technically I didn't"  
"Sorry, you were a coward and sent someone, make it all the better."  
"I was warning you."  
"What?"  
"Back off."  
"So you attacked my father's life."  
"I have no other way of hurting you."  
With full force and complete accuracy Lyndon placed a haed strike to the mans abdomen, sending him flying. The large man winced placing a hand on his abdomen trying to support it, to stop the pain. "Lyndon." This time when he spoke he was more beathless. "We need each other."  
"The fuck we-"  
"We need each other."  
"Why?"  
"You're nothing without me, I'm nothing without you. We keep each others careers going."  
"No we."  
"Lyndon."  
Lyndon stepped back thinking on the idea. Perhaps they did, were they the motivation behind one another? His thought trail died off quickly when the big man spoke again. "I know who your target is, you're going to need help getting her, as I assume you didn't kill my lovely lady Bexii."  
"No."  
"She's an attactive girl, its hard, even for someoen like you." The words 'Someone like you.' may have offended most, been percieved as discrimination. Lyndon Kaller was far from bothered by it, the less he was associated with your normal and average human being the better, he really could not be bothered in complaining about this and that, segrigation was normal. Moreover, segregation was wanted.  
Those words simply took him to a time, once when he had been sectioned in a psychotic episode, he recalled the time as the best in his life. He had been left alone, in peace. No people unless they were needed. He was fed, comfortable and alone. Allowed to do his own thing, his mind was allowed to wander on its own natural course without hindering from others, without focus being removed and then placed forcefully on other aspects in his life he wished not to care about.  
"She won't stop me doing it."  
"Uh huh."  
"She wont."  
"She will, and when you return, unless you have my advice, and so me alive, she'll have you on your back and panting her name in seconds. Then my friend, you have no chance."  
Lyndon thought, this description was soemthing he had never experienced, never wanted to experience. Not something that had even peaked his curiosity. It drew his mind to the conclusion thats sex could not be so good that it prevented all one needed to do from being achived. Surely. Its addictive quality seemed to be a myth. Yet his mind wandered to attachment, he would have a bonding with this woman, he would somehow grow attached... That could not happen. He nodded to Pete allowing him to stand.  
"This is not because I like you. I need a navigator."  
"You dont know Leeds?"  
An embarrassed look was offered, Pete sighed and nodded and dragged Lyndon to a bus stop where ten minutes later they caught the bus straight into the heart of Leeds.

***

The hotel Pete had chosen out was comfortable. Located just off Wellington street, by the rail way station - both had insisted on such, quick escape if needed. In fact, Lyndon could say the hotel was very comfortable and reminded him of his fathers taste, and his grandfathers (on his mothers side) the men had agreed on many things, including sending an eleven year old boy across the atlantic ocean and away from his home. Lyndon sighed, memories, they suck.  
They both sat in Lyndon's room, he looked out the window, neither had spoke for a good ten minutes, the silecne was comfortable, at least Lyndon thought so. Especially after the longest bus ride of his life - or so he thought - with Pete permenantly asking questions. The conversation would have been completely one sided had Lyndon not offered the occasional 'Shut up' to try and get through it without publicly remocing the mans head with a spoon. Pete clearly did not like the silence as much, he seemed uneasy, fidgetting. "What's wrong?"  
"I'm worried."  
"About?"  
"You."  
"I'm not going to kill you, not here."  
"That's not what I mean."  
"You mean what then?"  
"Bexii, she's not all she seems."  
"What? She's not a dumb blond slut?" Lyndon pretend gasped, feigning shock lazily.  
"Well, she has brown hair for starts," A comment for which Pete recieved flat eyes "I mean, she's smarter than you think. That and crazy as all hell, not crazy like you. Sort of... Well she's obsessed."  
"OCD."  
"Yes."  
"Thought so."  
Pete just nodded and stood pacing, Lyndon returned to looking out of the window, observing all the people, old, young, students most of them. He recalled the University, or a part of one of the two (The Met he thought) was located over the road, concidently, they had booked into a hotel a step or two away from a law school. Ironic?  
He tried despirately hard to ignore the annoying pacing continuing behind him, tried to push aside the bad thoughts - people, they're just foolish. Trying to fit in, to not appear as though he hated the world. That stopped when his company made the most insane suggestion he'd heard since his elitist and perfect birth.  
"Lets go shopping."  
Lyndon raised an eyebrow and turned slowly, the look on his face suggesting he'd rather rip of his tesitcles and eat them.


	14. Chapter 14

Hollister, Debenhams, Topman and Reiss (to name just a few). Just one or two shops, that's what Dwaine had said when they left the hotel. A whole wardrobe later Lyndon had finished and by now was both tired and bemused. The expense had gne through Dwaines credit card when he had learned of the fact that Lyndon had been forced to leave all his possessions in the hotel room, well all posessions with the exception of weapons. Anything that could have got him arrested. Dwaine had then decided that if they would be staying in the same hotel, Lyndon would need new clothes, lots of them. He could only describe todays experience as being something like going shopping with both your mother and grandmother. Only worse.  
Yes, that bad.  
He now lay on the bed, eyes closed trying to sleep. Dwaine had happily retired to his respective room. Lyndons eyes glanced over to the clock, he read the time as 6pm. Was that all? And he was tired? Damn Dwaine. He climbed from the bed showeing and dressing in a pair of adidas tracksuit bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, purchased at some sports store somewhere on the main street before he sat back on the bed taking out his BlackBerry looking through his email. Nothing.  
He scanned through his contacts finding his fathers number, his finger rested lightly on the call button, he hesitated. Of course he could use the price of international calling as an excuse not to tell his father, he could simply return without Stephanie and see if his daddy woild notice that she was gone? Maybe he could even get away with a couple of days to pack and run before rhe man noticed.  
No. That was absurd.  
He hit the dial button and listened to the international dialing tone. It was three rings before his father answered the phone, his tone one which suggested that the man was tired and unamused, a small crack in his voice suggested to Lyndon that he had been crying. This could only be bad news.  
"Dad?"  
"You."  
"Yes."  
"Good bye."  
"No. Dad."  
"Is it true?" So the man knew, Lyndon sighed his mind working hard to try and work out how the man could have heard about Stephanie.  
"It's true,"  
"You let her die?"  
"No, you know thats not-"  
"Where were you?"  
"Asleep."  
"You were sleeping as my wife was being killed?"  
No Lyndon thought, I was asleep whilst some whore you called your wife was being killed. She was a trinket at best, a sgn of the man's power, of his ability. The one and only thing Lyndon hated about his father was the man's obsessive need to have a woman by his side, a pointless need that proved what exactly?  
Nothing.  
"Yes I was asleei=p." The restraint was wearing away at him. He almost cringed at his tact.  
"I dont even know why I had you. You fucked up, You always do." The words didn't hit him, Lyndon listened to them coldly, they were to him simply a combination of useless phonemes that made a lexion that conbined with more made a sentence which made no difference to his life, like most. "I had to hear it in a newspaper, you didnt even have the balls to call me and tell me?"  
"I was going to, I've been a little busy."  
"Busy? Doing what exactly?"  
"Flying."  
"What?"  
"I was on a plane."  
"All day? Where the hell are you? Tokyo?"  
"Yes, I thought I'd quit my job and ignore all thats happened, take a vacation." His voice, as often was the case, gave away nothing. For all his father knew he could be being serious. "Of course I'm not, I'm in Leeds." his father made no response, the man probably had no clue where that was. "North England."  
"Why?"  
"I'm here with my oldest friend. Dwaine Johnson."  
"Oh. Him."  
"Yes."  
"He had-"  
"Of course he did, he arranged the kill and dont you worry your head about it, I'll get this sorted and he'll pay for it."  
"He better, dont bother coming home till he does. I dont want to see you." With that they switched roles, James Kaller hung up the phone on his son.


	15. Chapter 15

Bexii Sommers prepared, her make up, her hair, her outfit, she was literally picture perfect, the picture would not be in need of photoshop. Staring at her reflection she smiled, blowing herself a kiss. Happy with her choice of lipstick, it worked well for her, scrap that; it was perfect. She smiled and took up her handbag, her heels tapping on the floor as she walked. A slight stumble in her step, it was becoming far more natural. She plastered that sweet smile she was expected to have upon her lips, she adopted the 'I'm a dumb bitch' look she donned when playing out and walked quickly, displaying no signs that this lady could more than confidently look after herself.  
She couldn't help but feel somewhat proud of herself as her fathers words ran through her head. "You'll be nothing, girls cant be anything, God prevented that." Sure he did daddy. The man was so foolish, how unfortunate his untimely death had been.... for the rest of her family. Bexii had not even bothered to show up for the highly religious and stupid funeral. Her life had been the same, her childhood taken from her by the name of Catholoicism. Sure, she wore a cross around her neck, a gothic one which drew ample attention to her breasts. Wouldn't daddy be proud. Proud and on his way to cardiology.  
She stopped, her attention on a shop window she smiled to herself. "God, I'm sexy." She whispered to herself before walking on. Her mind wandered in its own maze, it was hard she knew, being a woman in a man's job. She made it look easy, she had so far, men, they bent to her requests. When you're a beautiful woman and when you know it, you can use it. You can achieve anything.  
She continued her trajectory now fast paced, she ignored the people around her, walking freely as the crowd seemed to part. They always did. Men stared, women scoffed. Healousy, it wasn't pretty and suited very few of them. The men of course were jealous of her boyfriend, the women jealous of her stunning beauty. Something she knew she flaunted. Was it too much?  
Never.  
She ran a delicately crafted finger through her fringe pushing it aside, her eyes gleamed, she knew that of course. As she approached Claridges, faster and faster her heart followed her step, Excitement had kicked in, this was her first chance to work out her plan, to see that man again. Her stalker. Her eyes closed momentarily at the thought. She pictured him in her mind, his casual look, his cologne.She gulped.  
Composure... Dear, you need composure.  
She forced herself to continue, walking confidently yet daintly. She didn't want anyone seeing her in a different light, not even now she was free of the strings. Pete had not come back from his litte escape. Thank the lord.  
She entered Claridges, welcomed as she always was by the manager. The well dressed man was about to walk her to her usual table when she held up a hand and spoke in that pretty little posh accent she'd practised for months before she'd come here. "Not today thank you, I'm meeting someone."  
"Madam?"  
"Mr Kaller. A reservation I believe."  
"Of course." The man offered a small head bow before he walked her to the table she she spotted her date sat. He wore a black suit, she knew instantly it was from Reiss, thats when you know you have style. She loved playing spot the suit. It looked strange on him, yet it worked, every bit of it worked. She smiled to him and sat down, her right leg delicately sat on her left. She lifted the menu, her perfectly manicured nails emphasised. She'd chosen the nail polish to clash with the menu, read obvious. "Good afternoon."  
He spoke in that accent of his, his tone welcoming of conversation.  
"Did you catch up with my fiance?"  
"Yes, I did."  
"What did you want to talk to him about?"  
"We were old friends."  
"Oh?" No she thought, you werent.  
"Yes."  
"He hasn't come home yet."  
Lyndon simply nodded, avoiding the topic as to where her fiance, uh, Pete really was. Of course he wasn't the dead. The temptation had been strong, the need had been there. Something had pulled him back from doing it, a decision his father would scold him for her was sure. He would explain. No he had let the man go, so long as he stayed away and kept his mouth shut, in exchange he had recieved information, enough to know exactly how to handle this.  
His eyes seemed to slip into their own world, out of his control. Scanning her body, each bit of it. Slowly. Carefully. Damn she was hot, Smoking, on fire. He gulped and tried to rip his attention away from her and onto the menu, the words made no sense, he tried, really he did. He blushed, embarassed that he had to ask. "Could you humour me?"  
"Sure."  
"What's on the menu?"  
Her smile faltered, she raised a curious eyebrow, she then continued to pretend she knew nothing of this man other than the very little he had chosen to share with her. She spoke in a sweet, controlled and non patrinising tone as she read the menu to him, freeing his eyes completely so he could look over her body, his eyes drawn to the cross on her chest. Something she failed to miss.

***

Their conversation had been continuous, talking about little things. Lyndon had mainly made small talk. They'd finally began to speak about each other, which ended in Lyndon allowing down some of the strong defenses, The fort was breaking, invasions were likely. Though he recalled, considering their roles, considerin all it didn't matter. By the end of the week she'd be no problem anymore, why was he so reluctant to tell her anything?  
Why was he so reluctant to do his job? Why had his eyes been fixed upon her? A thought came to mind, he shooed it as quickly.  
He opened the door to the new hotel room, a spacious suite, a double bed and a couple of luxuries. If he was going to impress the lady into trusting him he sure had to have a nice room to do so. She followed in closing the door behind her. Her eyes scanned, fixing on Lyndon's back as he removed the suit jacket, clearly more comfortable. She sat upon the end of his bed, twirling the ends of her thich brown hair around her delicate finger, biting her lip slightly. "I've been meaning to ask." She trailed off, sounding nervous.  
"Yes?"  
"Where does your accent come from?"  
He turned slightly, a look of suspicion on her face. She was trying to figure him out. This could never be a good thing. "Many places."  
"Tell." The sound of an excited child, the tone of an angry mother.  
"I'm American. Eton educated, then Oxford."  
She smiled, watching as the walls fell, they werent slowly demolished, instead collapsing one by one. Dominoes in his brain, one defense knocked the other into dust. She watched as he looked into the closet taking out a t shirt removing his shirt, his back to her. He tried to put the t-shirt on, failing for her hands being in the way. She hugged him tightly, turning him so his back rested against the wall, she stepped in closely, her red painted lips kssing his chest leaving a slight mark. "I've been meaning to say also. I want you."  
He hesitated, alarm bells in his head. He couldn't do this. Attachment.... It fitted the warning signs the psychiatrist had listed, all of them. He couldnt force his mind away as she kissed him more pulling him forward before pushing him onto the bed.  
It was an hour or so later before they lay next to each other, under the sheets, breathing hard and sweating. She smiled at him whispering. "That was amazing."  
His defenses were gone, the feeling was amazing, the consequences he knew would be drastic.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning after, Bexii was in Pete's apartment, she wore her favourite outfit. New favourite, one Lyndon had bought for her from Harrods. After she had stopped him complaining about the mass of people. A red dress, a black bow around the waist. Simple, effective. On her feet she wore her favourite boots, black, the heel now a pointed spike. The doorbell stunned her into the real world. She stepped out of her role as an imaginary fashion critic and opened the door. A young man stood donning a police uniform. "Mrs Johnson-"  
"No, Miss Sommers."  
"Oh, does Mr Pete Johnson live here?"  
"He used to."  
"He's moved?"  
"No, well. I dont know. You'd better come in." The young man thanked her and entered the small apartment, he glanced around trying to find something to admire, thats how people did these things she was sure. A conversation starter. He'd not find one of those here. "Take a seat. I insist." She combed her locks with her fingers, as with all his eyes fixed to her. He stuttered before his voice kicked into action.  
"Ms Sommerspp"  
"He's dead?"  
She couldnt tell if she sounded too pleased about that, if that was indeed the case.  
"Oh no miss. Nothing so sinister." Though his eyes remained firmly focused upon her cleavage, his voice falterd, clearly surprised a woman of her standing would think of such things. "We'd like to speak to him in connection with a murder that occured-"  
"You think he did it?"  
"We think he may know something miss."  
"Right."  
The young officer stood, looked around again. "You sure he's not here?"  
"I'm sure. I'd have told you if he was." That damn innocent smile, it burned her mouth.  
"Well, you'll contact us if he shows up?"  
"Of course,"  
She was about to allow the officer to leave when his radio sounded. She understood little of the cops radio speak, only recognised the name. His name rang alarms, why were they wanting to visit Lyndon? Of course, she knew all about the hotel room, about the murder. She knew about Lyndon, about his job. Were they going to arrest him? With precise accuracy and the perfect timing she landed the sharpened heel hard into the mans leg, ripping the flesh. He cried out in pain and hit the ground, a quick front kick sent him onto his back. She smiled sweetly, placed the heel against his throat, She ignored his plees as she ripped the skin, watching the blood. Moving quickly she packed and left. A quick text confirmed she had help:

Lyndon, hunni. If I was in trouble, you'd be there right?

Of course.

I need your help.

She'd sad no more, they'd simply arranged to meet in Green Park. He'd be in a bench, wearing jeans and a t shirt, a red coat. She headed quickly in that direction. She had to warn him of the situation. The police wanted to speak to someone like him, this could never end well. Not for either of them.


	17. Chapter 17

Green Park is a vast park in the heart of London, a lot like New York's central park; only smaller. Lyndon sat on a bench and read a book, his reading glasses fitted firmly to his face, the book was one of his favourites. 'To Kill a Mocking Bird' by Harper Lee. He loved the way it was written, the style. It was perfect. With each time he read it a question arose: Why do people discriminate.  
This came to the conclusion in Lyndon's head, people care, people fear, people are envious and so they discriminate. He shook his head at the thought; his eyes occasionally lifted from the pages and scanned the park. So far he had no sign of the young lady he was meant to be meeting, the young lady he had fallen asleep next to last night, the young lady who had successfully changed his world.  
He'd reached chapter ten when the lovely lady arrived, she sat next to him and kissed his cheek before he'd even attempted to look up. "I had a visitor this morning."  
"You did?"  
"Indeed."  
"And why would that be of interest to me? Your social life is not my own."  
"It would not concern you at all, had your name not been brought into it."  
"Who was your visitor?" His question came with a sigh, his tone completely non committal.  
"A police man,"  
Lyndon said nothing, he looked up from the book closing it and slipping it into his backpack. He sighed and stood beginning to walk before he looked back, a look which suggested she should walk with him. She stood and walked over, the tapping following. "A police man spoke to you about me?"  
"No, they spoke to me about Pete, your name was mentioned on their radios."  
"So they want to speak to me."  
"I think they want to arrest you, I wouldn't want to ask what for, but I thought a warning might be nice."  
"Truly useful."  
"What are you going o do?"  
He sighed and ignored her question, it was no right of hers to know what his intentions were. He stopped at the large gates he only glanced at days before, looking through the metal bars. The shadow cast by Buckingham Palace was impressive. He shuddered at the thought of being so close to royalty.That was something he admired about Britain. Despite it all, and he the knew the history well, despite the wars, the arguments and the revolutions; they still had their royal family. Though he had to a admit, the position they held was not close to what it once had been, in the days of the Tudors, the Plantaginats and the Stuarts. The Windsors held a rather weak position in society, specifically they were tourist attraction with religious influence. He knew that when it came to it, he had far more power.  
Power he loved to flaunt.  
He turned and looked back at the beautiful lady next to him, offering her a small hug, a kiss on the cheek he smiled. "I will have to go shortly."  
"Fine, but you never answered."  
"Answered dear?"  
"What you doing about the police?"  
That cold smile emerged, locked on his face. "I shall deal with them." with a cold tone and no commitment,, they would find him. It would not take long.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been hours before the police had shown up at the door of his hotel room, Lyndon had answered quickly. Now dressed in Levi's jeans and a black t shirt he accompanied the two officers, confident young men, both charming and polite he noted. No accusation in their voice. They really just wanted to speak with him? He raised an eye brow in suspicion, that's how much he doubted that.  
They hadn't been in the police car long when it pulled into a shabby old station, probably the work of an architect from the sixties, they worked different then.. Ugly things were beautiful. They entered the building where Lyndon saw the interior to be worse than the exterior, he had seen he inside of prison cells, inside of prisons cells in many countries. All were better than the décor here. He wondered if they had paid for the wall colour or asked one hundred drunk people to puke upon the walls simultaneously... He feared the first to be more likely, bringing on another shudder.  
Lord, how could they? It was truly hideous.  
The nice young officers led him to a truly familiar room, the typical grey colour which accompanied interrogation rooms He sat on probably the most uncomfortable chair he ever recalled sitting on, refused the water they offered him and sat silently as the young officers left. He stared at the one way glass, his reflection catching his attention. Slowly he took a comb from his pocket combing over his hair, ensuring a certainly attractive spikiness to his hair. He smiled, he was unsure if someone was at the other side of the glass, probably also attracted to his looks he was sure, he also didn't care, they meant so little to him. Perhaps they'd do the right thing and fall under a bus at the end of the day, they'd save him some time and effort if they'd be so kind.  
It was several minutes before the door open, a woman walked in. She smiled, sweet smile. Her green eyes scanned the room, Lyndon couldn't help but notice how they worked perfectly with her light brown hair, her skin complexion was pale, her suit - cheaply made he noted - was a black colour, a complete contrast to her skin which blended quite nicely with her white shirt. She was what many that Lyndon would describe as naive men would have thought of as attractive. Of course he realised, they weren't him and didn't have his intelligence.  
Bexii....  
He audibly sighed at the thought of her, god... She was beautiful, his mind returned to the night before, the night they'd shared, the contact, the rush. His heart skipped a little and he smiled, his hand now comfortably sat upon his lap. The woman brought him out of his trance. His eyes now fixed on her, holding eye contact perfectly. One of his many talents.  
"Mr Kaller-"  
"Lyndon, please."  
"Okay, Lyndon. I'm DI-"  
"I never get what that means." He was trying to play dumb, putting on the complete American side of his accent - the cheap American side he knew was closer to Texan than his Pennsylvanian accent.  
"Detective Inspector" she waited for some recognition, he simply nodded and waved his right hand slightly, an indication he was ready for her to continue "Im Detective Inspector Leanne Peters."  
"Pretty name." A distraction technique. She didn't take it, she simply nodded and took a seat before clicking the record button on a tape recorder, something he note she should have done when she entered the room, before she even opened her mouth. So she was a newbee?  
Bad Newbee.  
In his line of work he thought, she'd be dead already. She repeated her name and started with the typical introduction informing him he was not under arrest and could leave whenever he wished, she started that a lawyer could be present if he so wished. He simply nodded, he'd not need one and didn't plan to stick around in this horrible building long enough for the call to be worth it.  
"Lyndon, tell me, why are you in London?"  
"A holiday."  
"Oh?"  
"Yes."  
"Can you tell me what relation Miss Stephanie Kaller was to you?" She looked at him with something that appeared to expectation, he knew what she wanted him to say, the poor girl would find herself disappointed.  
"She's my step mother."  
The lady detective looked up, shifted back in her chair and raised an eyebrow, she clearly didn't like his answer, she was suggesting he was lying he could tell. He shrugged in reply then in monotone to his other responses he simply commented. "My father, he like em young."  
She shuddered and smiled, trying to rub off his honesty. She tapped her pen gently on the table, damnit she thought, she'd hoped he would say she was his wife. It had all fit, she'd have had a motive, it could have been case closed. She quickly looked through a file as a young uniformed officer handed it to her. She glanced over the paper, looking at the man before her, his cold tone, his eyes barely sane, no emotion visible yet that damn smile, he smiled like an angel and blinked slowly. It seemed he was looking right through her, she shivered again before reading further into the papers. They'd got all the information they could dig on him, psych records, criminal records. Nothing criminal, he'd been sectioned for a month in his teen years, a psychotic episode or two but nothing serious, he'd seemed to recover. This was getting her nowhere, she put down the folder, his eyes hit it for a moment then back to looking through her.  
"Lyndon-"  
"Did you enjoy reading my life?"  
So he'd done this before, clearly. Or watched one too many cop shows. They made this too easy for perps, suspects, even for witnesses. Damn the media. She took a gulp of tea. "Mr Kaller were you offered a drink?"  
"They offered me water, I refused."  
Of course you did. She sighed.  
"Would you prefer a hot drink?" She noted him looking at her cup. He nodded.  
"You Brits do make great tea."  
"I can have one made for you."  
"If you'd not mind, that would be truly lovely of you." So she regarded as she stood, psychopaths can be nice. He sure did fit the profile for one. She left the room calling to a young officer asking him to make a tea before drawing her bosses attention, he approached.  
"Leanne."  
"The psych records, did you find anymore?"  
"He has some personality disorder, it was in there wasn-"  
"Yes, yes, Borderline something yes." Borderline personality disorder she thought, thinking back to her time studying mental health before she'd given up on the idea of being a cop with a degree, a cluster B disorder causing severe emotional reactions, reactions invisible in him. It was frustrating. "I'm talking along the lines of Psychopathy?"  
The man just gave her a blank look followed by a shrug, he spoke once again in a heavy London accent. "Not really no. You're worried about the guy? I can take over if you-"  
"No, its probably better I take it." She was about to make a point about him likely responding better to women, then she recalled, if he was a psychopath that would make little difference. The uniform came back, a steaming cup in his hand. She thanked him and took the cup retreating back into the interview room handing it to the man across from her, he thanked her and smiled. Angelic.  
He took a gulp of the hot liquid, she couldn't help but watch. He did it with surprising elligence, how? Everything he did seemed so innocent, so charming. He was sociable yet she felt he didn't socialise much. Did he not enjoy it? She gave him a moment to relax.  
"You were staying at the Park Lane?"  
"Yes."  
"How long had you been there before Stephanie was killed?" She saw a change in his eyes, in his body language. An emotional reaction? She thought so.  
"A few nights."  
"Were you sharing a bed?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"Mr Kaller, Lyndon sorry. The question was simple were you sharing a bed?"  
"No. I slept on the chair most of the nights."  
"What about the one she was killed? Where did you sleep then?"  
A coy smile.  
"The bath."  
"Pardon?" She seemed shocked. He smiled, nodded and repeated."You slept in the bath?"  
"Indeed I did, I wouldn't have said it otherwise." If she'd offended him in suggesting he'd been deceitful, his tone let nothing out. His words were completely monotone, non committal. She had no way to tell if he was lying.  
"Okay. Why did you sleep in the bath?"  
"She had a friend over. I thought I'd leave her to her thing. I had no grounds to prevent it."  
"She was your fathers wife."  
"Exactly, my fathers wife, not my own, not my mother, and I'm not hers. Her choices were her own. I had no place to interfere." He believed his answers, she could tell.  
"Did you lock the door?"  
"No. Why would I have?"  
She shrugged, the question purely had been interest.  
"So when you woke up, was she alive?"  
"No. Though I am sure the coroners report would tell you that."  
"We call it autopsy."  
She received another smile, this time cold, sly. "Aren't we being truly British?"  
She shook off the comment, assuming it was designed as an insult. She recalled from the folder he had been educated in England, specifically Eton, one of their golden boys, top achiever. Then a masters at Oxford, he couldn't pretend he knew nothing of the linguistics, no he this was deliberate.  
"Tell me Lyndon, you made any friends here?" He shrugged in response. "Yes, I don't see why you'd be here now if you hadn't."  
"Perhaps I like it."  
"Perhaps."  
"Yes, I've made friends, who hasn't?"  
True.  
"Ms Peters, may I ask where you're taking this? If you want to know if I killed her the answers no, if you want to know if my friend killed her, the answers no, If you want to know why I'm here still, because I thought it would look pretty damn suspicious to just leave when I'd not answered you questions. Most of which I already answered when the police showed up at the hotel."  
"You left pretty quickly."  
"Ah yes, that." a smile, playful, toyed with his lips. "I was hardly going to hang around after my step mother was killed now was I?"  
She sighed and nodded, watching as he quickly drunk the rest of the hot liquid. "I'll give you a description of the man she was with at the hotel. Then I'm leaving, unless you're pressing charges?"  
She smiled and nodded taking a pad and writing down the description of the man he described. Lyndon left quickly after that, the wall colouring finally making him lose his breakfast when he got outside.


	19. Chapter 19

She sat in her apartment combing her hair, the man's body was gone - thank god, had she had to see such a sight any longer she'd have taken a gun and killed herself. Yuck. No, it wasn't the dead body, that was fine. It was the nasty, tacky and cheap uniform the man wore. She laughed at a thought, how desperate must a man be to become a cop? She thought of Lyndon of what she now knew he did for a job. In many ways, when he was hired to kill people Lyndon himself upheld the law though his job had benefits, no uniform and a great wage. Win, win win.  
She smiled and looked at her nails holding them up, beautifully manicured and painted a blood red - a beautiful colour. Next she'd have to paint this hideous and undecorated apartment, or she could just move out? Yes, that second one. Pete had left her enough money, maybe without knowing, maybe by accident, but the money was there all the same, sitting in her private bank account. Oh how she loved the way rich, tough men left their cheque books lying around, as though they were untouchable. As though no man would dare to touch it; and then they live with women.  
Suckers.  
Her mind wandered, a picture of Lyndon in her head, she was so desperately attracted to him. She thought of it, questioned. Why was she attracted to him? He was short, too short. Bexii herself was on the small side, perhaps five feet five inches was right for her? Though his sand blond hair was a turn off, dark hair all the way, his eyes were beautiful, but cold and his fashion sense was just... ugh. She concluded, it was the air of danger and of course, his wallet. A duh moment. Rich men bought women what they wanted, and all the better, rich men she found thought that they could have any woman they wanted. They could, just not for long.  
She stood, walking slowly, eligently around the flat, she wore a dress, short, knee length short, red, a black belt. She'd called Lyndon soon after he'd got out of the police station, she had of course heard about that. Yes, she knew. All had gone well. He'd be coming over that night, she had to dress to impress. Her heels shone, the silver stiletto glittered slightly. Satisfied she grabbed the keys to an over priced Mercedes, her pride and joy and left this shabby place. of course, she had given Lyndon the address to a nice little apartment somewhere just outside Nottinghill.  
She sat in the car and checked her handbag, a small sigh. She'd have to stop at a store before she made her way for this wonderful night.

Lyndon Kaller had changed, albeit quickly. He'd left a quick suicide note with the body of the creature who had killed Stephanie, he'd checked the place over and conducted a quick spring cleaning session. No need, but being safe was best. The police would find him here in a few days and assume the man had killed himself. However unlikely it might have been for the man to have cut his wrists in such a way, it was possible. He stepped before the mirror in his hotel room, brushed his hair and checked his clothes didn't clash. The navy shirt with the tan chino's, actually it worked. He sprayed on his favourite scent and left, the door clicking shut. He sighed and took a moment, his mind wandering to her. His heart raced, his pulse quick nd his eyes closed against his will, he felt his hands sweating, his stomach knotting and the pit of his stomach warmed, the feeling travelled south.  
Oh God, no.  
He gulped and checked the gun was in his pocket, it had to be tonight, when he reached her. He had no choice, a minute longer and he'd fail. How could he kill a woman he was beginning to fall in love with?


	20. Chapter 20

Her apartment was just as he'd expected it to be when he got inside, the walls were light and decorated with art, the floor clean and dark hard wood. Inside hosted the contemporary American look, the New York city paradise, the over rated and truly hideous design. Blah. Since he'd entered this apartment five minutes back Lyndon's opinions on Rebecca Sommers had fallen, sure she was pretty, sure she was great in bed - not that he had anything to compare to - and sure, she was nice but sure, she like hideous things.  
That was enough to put any man with a well trained eye in design and well luxuries right off a girl.  
Yet he couldn't complain, she was a great hostess, currently fetching drinks, and her red leather sofa was plenty comfortable enough. His eyes had scanned the room several times, looking for personal things, his attention had been drawn to a picture of the young woman hugging a man almost twice her age, a man with long black hair.  
Pete....  
A cold smile, that bastard.  
His attention broke when Bexii once again entered the room, that little sway thing she did accompanying her walk, drawing his eyes to her hips then up to her breasts, those perfect breasts. He gulped, closed his eyes. Shwow. She dressed stunningly tonight, that dress he recalled was one of his greatest investments, it suited her, the colour perfected her light skin tone, it clashed with her hair, it was somewhat stylish and somehow gothic, or was that only for her black fishnet tights and the small leather studded bracelet?  
She sat down next to him handing him a drink, she drank a drink containing something a blood orange, his eyes fixed, curious. She picked up on it. "I like blood orange, it contains the word blood, and orange, as in like orange blood?"  
Oh sweet naivety.  
She giggled as she kissed his cheek, sending it red on impact. Her eyes scanned him up and down, her eyes catching on his waist, then on his pocket, her hand resting on his thigh a gentle slow movement which made him fidget and gulp. She moved closer, her thigh almost on his lap. she slid closer still, her lips close to his neck, she could hear his pulse, feel his heart race, she saw the sweat, she smelt him and gulped. She kissed gently up his skin to his ear whispering, her voice seductive, tempting. "You hungry baby?"  
His mind pleaded, his heart pounded. Both fighting for the right to control him. So much of him screamed no, commanded he do what he was here to do. Then to leave and never come back. He couldn't, no, she was winning. He gulped and nodded, his eyes never moving away from her lips, those warm and pink cushions above her chin. She took his hands and pulled him to his feet, taking him in close, walking slowly she covered his eyes with her hands, leading the way.  
She smiled and kissed his cheek before he foot slipped around the back of his leg, she pushed lightly watching as he hit the floor, now she moved quickly acting on his shock, she had seconds. The leather was around his wrists binding them before he could react, she pushed the handkerchief over his face watching his eyes close she pulled him, propping him on a chair, she used a well placed strike to the neck to stun the nerves, he'd not be moving for an hour or so.  
That she knew was all the time in the world.


	21. Chapter 21

Minutes later he was looking around a kitchen, black and silver ever last bit of it. He struggled, he felt his body yet had no control. His eyes scanned quickly before setting on a smug looking Bexii. He opened his mouth, closing it as she held up a finger. "Shh honey, I'll have none of it. I only kept you alive long enough to tell you how foolish you are. You know, you had potential, really you did. The cold psychopath, simply too cliche though, it could never have lasted." She sighed a sad sigh, pretend pouted before she laughed, colder than he'd heard a laugh. "You made two mistakes sweetie." She stepped closer to him kneeling before him. "First" She actually held up a finger stroking his nose with it "You fell in love with me. Second" A second finger, this one on his lips "You were too obvious." Now she pulled out the gun he'd stuffed in his belt and the two knives from his pocket. He closed his eyes briefly, a prayer muttered in his brain. She stood and turned taking two steps before turning back. "Oh, I almost forgot." She pulled a syrnge from her boot. "Yes I have no idea what's in here" Her voice hushed to a whisper, as though she were a school girl telling a secret "but I bet its fun."  
His eyes fixed on the plastic tube, his mind screamed: Damnit, oh damnit. Now he wanted to run, if only his legs would work.  
She noticed the fear and stepped close taking his cheek into her hand she stroked. "Shhh sweetheart." Her tone the same as if she had been speaking to a three year old child.  
"You'd make a mistake in killing me now."  
"Oh?"  
"Bexii-"  
She laughed as he used that name, brushing her black hair behind her ear with a long and delicate finger. "Honey, no." He raised a confused eyebrow. "Bexii was just a cover, truly wonderful huh? Call me Fayth, with a Y."  
Great he thought, even the real you is illiterate. He'd hoped for better. Shame really.  
"Fine Fayth. You'd lose a lot in killing me now."  
"Why so?"  
"There's so much you don't know."  
"About?"  
"What will happen to you when I'm dead."  
"Oh pulease." Like an impatient teenager. "I know well, you think I havent researched you? I could write your autobiography better than you could."  
Biography he thought, if you were writing it it would be my biography. He didn't say it instead settled for a sigh, had he been able to a shrug would have been added. She stepped closer, his eyes fixed on her. She flicked up the blade of his knife, examining it closely. She held it lightly against his skin, he could feel the cold, he winced. Something abnormal then happened, his survival instinct kicked in, in something of a panicked attempt to extend his life he spoke again.  
"Pete-"  
"What?" A small amount of anger.  
"He lied to you."  
"I know."  
"No, you don't."  
"He was a drug dealer and not a legitimate businessman, so what, render me shocked."  
"A drug dealer?" Lyndon genuinely laughed at that, saying words through forced breaths. "No, he really isn't."  
"Huh?" She stepped back.  
"Oh? Yeah, and his names not Pete."  
"Tell me more." An order.  
"No."  
"What?"  
"I wont."  
She picked up on his game, it was obvious. She simply smiled and stepped back, leaning gently on the counter behind her. "Oh Lyndon, you think I'm a fool? You're wrong. You're going to tell me so why not be smart and simply stop yourself from feeling the pain huh?"  
Damn survival instinct. He refused. She nodded and looked at the knife tilting the blade from side to side, the light shining off it. Her mind thought of the other night, how they had touched, how good he had felt on her, the moments they'd shared, her eyes closed involuntarily. She spoke, her voice a whisper. "I wanted to tell you, the other night, I meant it, you were amazing. Truly lover you were." She then moved with speed, throwing the knife it his his leg, the left side a little above the knee, the agonising scream didn't make her flinch, the blood didn't make her feel sick. She was playing the master at his own game, she was winning and enjoying it.  
"Lyndon, sweetheart" Her tone was calm, controlled. "Tell me about Pete."  
"His names Dwaine."  
"Dwaine what?"  
He shook his head. Wrong answer she thought as she stepped over, pressing the syringe lightly against his neck, the needle jabbing his skin gently. She felt him try to move, poor fool. She whispered again. "Tell me."  
"Dwaine Johnson."  
She had two answers, the truth of her ex lovers name and information about this mystery substance, it hurt. "Tell me more."  
"No."  
The needle scraped his skin, a little deeper. He winced and muttered, his eyes closing, tears brimming she could see the psychological torture. He'd expected to last longer than this at his own game of power. "Okay, he's an assassin."  
Hardly surprising, she tied nots, connections. So that's how they knew each other, they were never friends but rivals.  
"He's dead isn't he Lyndon? You killed him?"  
"No." A laugh. "That would have been to easy."  
"Then where is he?"  
This time a head shake, the needle went all the way into a vein, it had no effect other than a wince. She spared no mercy, she hated herself as she pushed down the lever, emptying the barrel. His eyes closed, knowing, waiting, preparing. A moment later he cried out in pain, his eyes already blood shot. "Lyndon, tell me." She stepped away knowing it would take but seconds, between the sobs of course.  
"America, I think. I made a deal, you're dead, that's the upside."  
No she thought, she'd just have to have another fight. He babbled some more, between coughs, sobs and deep inhales. Finally satisfied she took the second knife holding it up, she flicked the blade and sent it through the air. Regrettably it went right and landed into soft flesh, she heard the coughing and the remaining oxygen in Lyndon's right lung escaping as it collapsed, blood oozed from the wound and tears fell from his eyes. No, it had meant to hit the heart and finish this. She gasped and ran, leaving her victim alone for only a moment as she grasped aspirin in her hand, 12 capsules, a bottle of vodka too. With some force and gentle soothing she forced his mouth open and poured both the capsules and liquid forcing him to swallow the putrid mix. "They'll make you bleed faster."  
He nodded, panting. it had been her sign of respect, of mercy, to end his life sooner, Something the settled in her eyes, an ice cold he'd seen only in himself. She turned the chair toward the window, his eyes looked down at the busy London traffic three floor below, then it was sudden. He felt nothing as the window broke with his weight, nothing more as he hit the ground.  
The last thing saw were wheels of the bus stop, he heard the bone in his leg snap, he was sure now he was done.


	22. Chapter 22

I often wondered what I would be like to be a fictional character, where all your life and who you are is under the control of one man with a pen who can change your life or remove your existence by the flick of a pen of click of a button; where your fortunes are dependent on their mood and all you do is their decision. It would have explained a lot for my circumstances and all that had happened. I'd suddenly realised that there comes a day in every man's life where the pain seers, his will dies and all he worked for, all he achieved was shattered in front of him, it is then when every man no matter his strength will see the light and embrace his fate with open arms and walk to his coffin freely. The agony had brought me to this long ago. A million questions ran through my head, how had I been called sadistic? In my life I recalled a million times I had been the cause of such pain as this, yet the crime in life is not to take someone to the brink between life and death but to pull them back for a life which could be the same as it was before. True sadism, true cruelty lay purely in the hands of my saviours. I cried out on deaf ears and begged them not to try. Moments later it was black.. Surely this was death?


	23. Chapter 23

The machines beeped, hissed, dripped, clicked and whirred, other than that there was silence. An eerie unbreakable silence. James Kaller sat by his son as he had for three weeks as the boy lay unconscious, unresponsive. He had seen Lyndon in hospital before, on multiple occasions. As a baby, when he was four and they had found out about his cardiac problems, when he was seven with his appendix removed, then when he had been sectioned, none so far had been this bad.  
His hand sat on the bed, resting where just a month ago his son's left leg would have been, no, that had gone in the accident. The doctors claimed they had tried to save it. So many times he had asked what had happened, no one had been sure. The doctors had confirmed that Lyndon had jumped from a window, his injuries had been consistent with those received when glass tears the flesh. As James looked at the bandage over his son's chest he knew it wasn't the case, no, there was something more to it. Probably only convinced of this thanks to Lyndon's somewhat inethical career choices, he still knew all the more than Lyndon had not done this himself. Lyndon had tried suicide before, never like that. A gun to the head, that would have been his way. Of course the doctors had said they'd found a chemical mixture in his blood. Ethanol, ammonia and aspirin. Some other substances too, they said that could have impacted him, the chances are he didn''t mean to fall from the window. The chances were he didn't fall at all.  
James Kaller stroked his son's hair as a nurse entered the private bay, she smiled politely and checked the notes at the end of the bed, reading carefully before walking to the IV drip and untangling the tubes, her black hair shining under the light reflecting off the clear liquid. For a few moments all was quiet, the nurse spoke, her voice soft, foreign, he couldn't place it. "How has he been so far? The doctors say he's due to wake up."  
News James Kaller hadn't head.  
"He squeezed my hand earlier, nothing more."  
"That's still progress." Her words were said with a smile, one knowing, intelligent and kind. She set about changing Lyndon's bandages and dressing cleaning him as she did. She straightened the oxygen mask and returned to the drip, she held one of the tubes as she spoke again. "I heard he was in an accident?"  
"Sure."  
"Seems bad for an accident."  
"Yes, it was."  
"Oh." She said nothing more for a moment, she let go of the tube, James noted a small silver slide, matching the colour of her heels, though he thought nothing of it, this was her job, she knew what she was doing. She spoke again, resting her hand on the bed, she stroked Lyndon's arm. "He deserved it really."  
"Huh?" he hoped he was mistaken, that his hearing had deceived him.  
"Karma's a bitch Mr Kaller, if someone does enough bad things, a very bad thing will happen to them."  
"I don't ave to listen to this."  
"No, you don't but you should know something." James looked at her, silent. "It was far from an accident. I even enjoyed it a little." She stepped away from the bed as Lyndon's eyes opened, his hand moved trying to grab hers, both of which James Kaller ignored, he stepped around to face the nurse, ignoring more as his son reached the trolley, his hand gripping a scalpel. Fortunately the man moved in time, jumping as the slimline metal spiralled through the air and landed sharply in the nurses wrist. The young woman, her early twenties removed the blade and checked her injury, she smiled sadly and looked back blowing her patient a kiss and mouthing the words. "Better luck next time baby." She spun on her sharpened silver heels and tapped out of the ward.  
It was then James Kaller looked at the business card she'd slapped in his hand causing him to move, in perfectly formed red calligraphy were the words 'Fayth Fallen."  
His mouth opened with a gasp, no words left it. He turned quickly as the monitors beeped and ran for nurse as Lyndon silently slipped into cardiac arrest.


End file.
